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The second-hand on a clock can not see how the minute hand is related to itself. Both pass around face and space of time, breaking the eternal return down into ticker tape segments. The curvature of the earth is seen as vanishing horizon, a line that exists only as an illusion.

Darwin’s theory of evolution and natural selection outlined in The Origin of the Species is represented by The Tree of Life, an interconnected temporal, intertwined diorama of consecutive mutation and adaptations towards survival. There was a first organism. From two organisms, the third and third millionth and so on can be drawn and tied together in relation by simple lines. However, the first organism stands alone. It seems to me that Darwin did not tackle the issue of God in his theory. He simply left the genesis the first organism wide open.

I had more to say but the gat of a gunshot just rang really close to my window. enough for now. It’s all about survival.

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Imagine: you are guiding your raft down an unfamiliar river. There are other rafts surrounding you: each raft is carrying one individual, and altogether creates a brilliant sight for the sore, omnicient eye; a ribbon of rafts speckles the waving ribbon steaming currents under currents of turquoise water, glistening with flints of flaxen filament like seeds of rhizome unconsciousness’.However, you are aware that the commoradery of the ‘one-for-all-all-for-one’ community spirit is a facade. The navigator of each raft steers steadfastly into the direction oared and willed into destiny. Or, at least, prevents the door of destiny from shutting without lacerating the duration of opportunity to pass through a gate towards destiny.

There is a fork in the mainstream, presenting a choice: to conserve energy by continuing with the momentum of current and detaching oneself from curiosity, or to turn your back towards the sense of community and face the unknown head on, steer with more force and less progress down the forked tributary, attach and align oneself with the mystery and adventure, and detach from the you that is reflected in the unconditional loving eyes of others.

Human nature conserves energy. Choice one wins nearly every time: detach from the curiosity of a whole new world and continue down the familiar, mainstream.

To ask a human to defy our common nature and steer with greater exertion of resources only to see less progress made is not inherently reasonable, only made so through the sound scape of labyrinthine, logical rhetoric.

The Daoist tradition values detachment as the ultimate tool towards enlightened nirvana and selfless living. Detaching from mandated systems or tasks tied to our development and identities in these consumer/commodity bionic lives we live rarely receive the recognition of wise or sagely; unfortunately not, and quite the antithesis, those who detach from the lonely tributary and unknown winding road are called delinquents–on a steady downward stream, trading dying for living through comfort daily.

The Twelves are back with a new mixtape — including some of their new official remixes for Zeigeist and The Virgins. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve headed over to The Twelves’ MySpace to listen to their remix of “Humanitarianism.” Like at least a million. The mix also includes some of their home brews for Radiohead, Lykke Li and Fleet Foxes. Based on their previous Thirty Minutes of the Twelves mixtape, we can assume without listening that this one is nop totch. Yep, it is:

I say, both. The universe is both predetermined in space and elastic in time. the fabric of the interwoven fibers of space-time also meshes the appearance of permanence (qi, human nature, not eternal but rather timelessness, or outside the bounds of time.)

Tonight at dinner, I said something and then my friend said “3 monkeys” and I just rolled with the expression I hadn’t heard before. Later explained, three monkeys left alone in a room with typewriters will finally get the magical screenplay written just right.

Timing and combinations. That’s what it’s about. There is a predetermined certain set of possible combinations. But as time goes on, the number of potential combinations increases in its sequence in a series. Elastic. Like the String Theory. Predetermined and like silly putty flexible through the push/pull pulse of a strong will.

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Leo Tolstoy exemplifies why literary fiction is sometimes referred to as Language Arts in his novel Anna Karenina. The language that Tolstoy finessed caused me to pause amidst my fluid motion of unpacking while listening to Anna Karenina during a specific passage in Book 1 Chapter 9 to fully absorb the perfection. Below is the aforementioned excerpt, with the perfect paragraph bolded:

At four o’clock, conscious of his throbbing heart, Levin stepped out of a hired sledge at the Zoological Gardens, and turned along the path to the frozen mounds and the skating ground, knowing that he would certainly find her there, as he had seen the Shtcherbatskys’ carriage at the entrance.

It was a bright, frosty day. Rows of carriages, sledges, drivers, and policemen were standing in the approach. Crowds of well-dressed people, with hats bright in the sun, swarmed about the entrance and along the well-swept little paths between the little houses adorned with carving in the Russian style. The old curly birches of the gardens, all their twigs laden with snow, looked as though freshly decked in sacred vestments.

He walked along the path towards the skating-ground, and kept saying to himself—”You mustn’t be excited, you must be calm. What’s the matter with you? What do you want? Be quiet, stupid,” he conjured his heart. And the more he tried to compose himself, the more breathless he found himself. An acquaintance met him and called him by his name, but Levin did not even recognize him. He went towards the mounds, whence came the clank of the chains of sledges as they slipped down or were dragged up, the rumble of the sliding sledges, and the sounds of merry voices. He walked on a few steps, and the skating-ground lay open before his eyes, and at once, amidst all the skaters, he knew her.

He knew she was there by the rapture and the terror that seized on his heart. She was standing talking to a lady at the opposite end of the ground. There was apparently nothing striking either in her dress or her attitude. But for Levin she was as easy to find in that crowd as a rose among nettles. Everything was made bright by her. She was the smile that shed light on all round her. “Is it possible I can go over there on the ice, go up to her?” he thought. The place where she stood seemed to him a holy shrine, unapproachable, and there was one moment when he was almost retreating, so overwhelmed was he with terror. He had to make an effort to master himself, and to remind himself that people of all sorts were moving about her, and that he too might come there to skate. He walked down, for a long while avoiding looking at her as at the sun, but seeing her, as one does the sun, without looking.

I am seldom made to feel afraid and then subject to my own fear by another person. More rarely, by a stranger. However, today I was. This middle aged man was following me around the back of a super market, whispering at me, trying to corner me and talk to me and asking me sexual questions and if I wanted to ‘walk over there (wink)’ with him. I realized that there weren’t that many other people in the market and if anyone noticed they did nothing. It was weird.